


Merry Happy Christmas to You

by shadhahvar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 12 Days of Victuuri, Canon Compliant, Christmas Cake, Christmas Eve, Christmas Morning, Happy Birthday, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 09:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13097460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadhahvar/pseuds/shadhahvar
Summary: Yuuri finishes with his National Championship while Viktor is halfway through his own; only Viktor has arranged a Christmas surprise, and Yuuri finds a way to wish him the happy birthday he's always wished he could say.





	Merry Happy Christmas to You

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd fluff post-canon, while they're both at their National Championships. Self-indulgent fluff? Say it's exactly so! c;

Yuuri sat on the edge of his hotel bed, toweling off his hair. He knew what time it was, even with his glasses still resting on the flat top of the broad headboard. He’d already been through his press conference and short, associated interviews; the gala would be tomorrow, along with the banquet and time set aside for rubbing elbows with his sponsors and arranging details for a photoshoot Mizuno wanted in the new year.

Viktor felt half a world away, busy with his own National Championship, sporadically messaging Yuuri to set up time to talk in the evenings. It was more than Yuuri had expected at first. Regardless of their exchange of promises, Yuuri’s to stay competitive and Viktor’s to both compete and coach _Yuuri_ , he’d thought there would be more silences than this. Yet it’d been Viktor, inevitably, checking in and offering praise and commentary, his pride and his insight, each evening. Yuuri knew he was handling his own obligations with the same apparent, effortless flare as he managed everything; that didn't mean any of it was truly effortless. 

Yuuri knew better these days. He hadn’t, not ten months ago, but he hadn’t even known as much about himself ten months ago as he did now.

Now he looked at the single heart emoji on his phone and found himself smiling, shaking his head. Viktor was finished with his short program today; he held the lead over Yuri Plisetsky by more than what the younger Russian appreciated. Less than what he should have were he performing at peak condition.

The real fight would be in the free skate, where both Viktor and Yuri would be facing their program records on the ice. Yuuri himself held the current world record, for all that still felt surreal at times. Not that it would matter at anyone’s Nationals; best scores were only recorded at international competitions.

Yuuri had managed to pull off the same program as he’d landed at the Grand Prix Final, an ode to what Viktor had given him, a love letter to the people who’d supported Yuuri to this point in his life. To those same people who would continue to support him as he moved forward.

That was his love, in all its nuances, impossible to pin under the single, inadequate umbrella that the term _love_ seemed to be in English.

Yet it wasn’t just about him. _Couldn’t_ be just about him, looking down at that single heart emoji and remembering the man behind it. 

_Tired?_

He sent back, knowing it would be awhile before there’d be any reply. Then, because it was true, even if he’d found a livestream that’d hiccupped on his phone, he added:

_You were incredible out there today._

To his surprise, he saw the icon indicating Viktor was typing a response light up, flashing, going still, then starting again.

_Says my Gold Medalist. Yuuri! I teared up seeing how beautiful your take-off was for your quad flip! You had exactly the height you’ve been hitting in practice, and that landing! Your arm swung out and your balance wasn’t exact, but you pulled through and kept your feet to finish out clean as freshly laundered sheets!_

Yuuri stared down at his phone, startled into a snort of amusement. Ridiculous as far as comparisons went, but it was easier these past months to accept what Viktor said as both honest and true. The critique was as direct as Viktor generally was; compliments felt earned when he heard exactly what he was doing wrong, too, even if he didn’t offer the same back.

He wasn’t supposed to, and it wasn’t quite how he saw Viktor. All he’d wondered about in watching his… his everything, his second heart out there on the ice, was how exhausting it must be. Two weeks of intense training didn’t make up for a lead-in to a season full of training. Viktor hadn’t been slacking off, but in coaching Yuuri, he hadn’t been pushing himself to stay in the same competitive shape he was in otherwise.

It showed, but not in obvious ways. 

_I need to work on that landing, you’re right. It was better at the GPF. Anyway, don’t you have things you need to be doing? I don’t want to distract you, Coach Viktor._

He smiled as he waited for his reply, scooting back onto his bed and pulling his legs up after him. 

_Coach Viktor is doing fine, thank you. Competitor Viktor is also doing fine, and looks forward to seeing you at Worlds, Yuuri. But enough about that! Are you still planning on staying in tonight?_

Odd how it felt like a welcome question when Viktor asked, even if it was roughly the fifth time. 

_Yeah. The gala isn’t until tomorrow afternoon, but warm-ups and rehearsal are in the late morning._

Minami-kun had told him he was looking forward to the gala, enthusiastic and proud as he’d been for his silver that day. Yuuri had been glad for him, had even remembered to wish him luck beforehand, along with the handful of skaters who’d looked after him like he was someone who could impart luck. He didn’t believe he was, but he did believe nowadays it mattered that he try and do what Viktor had always done for him simply by existing: encourage.

He wasn’t graceful at it, but it seemed to work, no matter how set his expression became as he settled his head into competitive space. 

_Planning on staying up late?_

He smiled to himself, partly to ward off a frown. He knew it was two different questions, asking if Yuuri was feeling like he could sleep (and he knew he would, less nervous about skating his rendition of _Stammi Vicino_ tomorrow than his own programs), and if he’d decide not to sleep at all. Four hours of time difference meant an early morning for him when what he most wanted was a simple exchange of words.

_Or getting up early. Both have a certain appeal, but I’ll see. Are you sleeping early or sleeping in?_

There was a knock on his door while Viktor was writing his response. Yuuri frowned, reaching for his glasses and putting them on, leaving his phone on the bed. He hadn’t called for room service. Did Celestino need something? No one else knew his room number, did they? Maybe Minami, but he didn’t hear any excited chattering as he approached the door. Which was an unfair, albeit amusing, thought. Minami was a good person, and a good skater. He was going to be worth watching on the international stage soon, probably in the next season. The Olympic Season.

Opening the door, Yuuri stared blankly at the young woman in uniform that stood beyond. She gave him a happy enough smile, holding up a bag emblazoned with the name of a local bakery. “Delivery for Katsuki Yuuri,” she said, waiting for his nod of acknowledgement before brightening her smile and holding the bag out to him.

“If I can have you sign here please,” she said, pulling a small rectangular tablet out of her pocket. The provided pen was enough for him to jot down his name, awkward with the bag hanging off one arm.

“Happy Christmas!” She bowed as she spoke, and he found himself returning the gesture. “And congratulations, Katsuki-san.”

“Happy Christmas, and, ah, it wasn’t the best I could do.” He could imagine Viktor’s expression right then, making himself smile and finding it wasn’t difficult. “Thank you. It’s everyone’s support that has helped me get this far. I hope everyone will continue to support me in the future.”

Falling back on the words he said so often in front of cameras and in interviews, Yuuri almost expected to see the young woman scoffing when he looked up. Instead she smiled, bright and uninhibited, bowing again with her hands in front of her.

“Yes, Katsuki-san! We’ll continue to support you in everything you do.” She swallowed down anything else she might have said, eyes dipping down to his right hand. With a small, high-pitched sound, her cheeks pinked and she turned, moving down the hall with a visible bounce in her step.

Yuuri stared after her for a moment, uncertain of her reaction. She sounded sincere… most the fans he brushed up against were sincere in their support of Japanese skaters. There was a warmth in that, and a pride and respect for the visibility of their support for everyone. Still, what was it about his hand? He lifted his arm, bag dangling from it, stretching out his fingers. Nothing caught his eye past the glint of light off his ring.

Strange, but no more or less strange than the delivery itself. He moved back into his room, closing the door gently behind him. There was a white box with a handle inside of the bag; moving to the desk butted up against the room’s one window, Yuuri set about extracting the box.

The box itself only carried a gold emblem of the bakery it’d come from, mirroring the same symbol on the bag. A slip of red caught his eye as he lifted the box up; once he’d set it down on the desk, he fished the red envelope out of the bag. There was a note inside, he found, with a simple written message: _Merry Christmas, Yuuri! Wish I could be there. Viktor_

Yuuri held the card close, chest tight, aching in a way that left him breathing fine. He sunk down into the chair at the desk, turning his head to find his phone where it lay on the bed. Of course Viktor would have looked into Christmas traditions that Yuuri himself hadn’t followed so closely once he’d started training in the United States. Of course the man who didn’t celebrate his birthday early would have figured out Christmas cakes, because Yuuri couldn’t imagine any other kind of baked good inside that asture white box sitting on the desk. Viktor, who didn’t celebrate Christmas, who may or may not even celebrate his birthday until the week after, with the New Year, given how Russia’s National Championship was almost always running on, over, or around the 25th of December.

He wanted to laugh and cry both, overwhelmed and a little irritated with himself for it, but only because he hadn’t known what to get for Viktor back in Barcelona, before he’d seen the rings. Was there any better way of showing how much he treasured the time they spent together, the time they were improbably enough going to continue spending together, Yuuri moving to St. Petersburg in the next two weeks to continue his training? Was there another way to say how much he appreciated everything Viktor was to him, all the love Yuuri had started seeing around him because Viktor had helped him realise there was so much he needed to see? The loves he felt for Viktor, complicated and refusing simplistic definitions: Yuuri had never felt particularly gifted with words. He could skate how he felt much more clearly than he could find the spoken language. Viktor, incredible as he was, even understood—both the inadequacy and the language they were both most fluent in speaking with their bodies.

Then again if the reigning World Champion of Men’s Singles Figure Skating didn’t understand what was said on the ice, Yuuri didn’t believe he would’ve ever _been_ reigning champion. 

He set the card down to open the box, manipulating the white cardboard until he could see the rich reds of strawberries perched on whipped cream frosting, a small chocolate wafer with _Merry Christmas_ written in cursive English, and a small sugar Santa figure perched to the side. It was too much for him, even if he wasn’t watching what he ate, but at a little more than the size of his fist, it was also… perfect.

Yuuri went for his phone, scooping it up and setting the card in front. It took fiddling with the desk lamp and the overhead light before he was satisfied with the set-up, card legible and not lost in shadow. He snapped the photo, sending it to Viktor with a short message. _Wish you were here too. Viktor! You didn’t need to do this!_

Yuuri sat back on the bed, alternately staring down at his phone and straight ahead at the cake and card. “I haven’t even gotten to wish you happy birthday yet. Talk about unfair.” 

He read Viktor’s reply when it arrived, groaning as he blushed and flopped back down on his bed. _I asked your mother about Christmas traditions. I think she asked Mari, too, and there was something about fried chicken, but I didn’t think you’d look more forward to that than to katsudon. Do you like it?_

_How’d you even set this up?_

_Minako helped._ Yuuri rolled over, frames of his glasses pressing uncomfortably into his face as the mattress pushed them askew. 

_Of her own free will?_ He loved Minako-sensei, had benefited greatly from her support and expertise over the years, but he was just as familiar with her particular agendas.

_Yes! Along with an invitation to hang out with me and Chris for a meal at Europeans or Worlds, whichever she could make it to._

Ah, there it was. Yuuri lifted his head, pulling his glasses off to set to the side. _Worlds, probably. March would be before any of her classes start up again with the school year._

_Then Worlds. She can watch you compete there, too._

He snorted, dragging his thumb across the screen. _Such confidence from my coach!_

_Yuuri, you were announced for Worlds and Four Continents earlier today. Isn’t Minami going too?_

_Yes._

It was odd, talking like this over their phones, using an app to bridge the four hours and hundreds of miles between them. Yuuri didn’t fool himself into believing any of this was easy. Not what Viktor was trying to do, not the distance necessitated by concurrent events, not the way he kept looking for a familiar head of silver hair and the flash of a too-awake smile every morning. He _missed_ Viktor, missed Makkachin, too. Missed Vicchan still, if he was honest. Missed his mother and father and Yu-topia and Mari and Hasetsu, with the Ice Castle and the Nishigori family. Missed all these things where he was now, alone in a hotel room islands away from his family, countries away from everyone else he loved.

Yet for all that, he wasn’t lonely. He’d see Viktor and Makkachin and even Yurio again soon. His family was a phone call away. Phichit was on social media, happily garrulous when he wasn’t as focused as any other competitive figure skater, eyes turned toward the ice. 

He felt himself smile, curling up, cradling his phone close so he could read the screen as Viktor wrote out a reply. He sent an image along with a message: 

There was Viktor, dressed down and casual, a smudge of eyeliner at the corner of one eye. He’d head for the shower and then out for dinner soon, catching up with his rinkmates and acquaintances. For that moment captured by Viktor’s phone, he rested a finger on his lips and gave the camera, gave Yuuri, a mischievous look. _Just clarifying, but you did win gold at Nationals, didn’t you?_

 _I did. I even posted something like that to Instagram. Phichit was asking._ He’d seen Viktor’s like on that post. He saw Viktor responding to him now.

_I can’t wait to see your gold in person._

A warm, curling feeling swirled through his center, extending up into his chest and down lower. Nothing pointed or with particular focus, but a lingering warmth that had him rolling onto his back, sitting up again to regard the cake.

_Saying I should bring it to St. Petersburg?_

He was ravenous, craving the cream and sugar and sweet tartness of the strawberries all at once. He could tell Viktor. No doubt he’d end up laughing, then encourage Yuuri to eat. He pushed off the bed, dipping a finger into the whipped topping. The cream on his tongue was rich, lightly sweetened.

_Saying I’d like to see you wearing it when you get there._

Why that made him smile even while his cheeks heated up, the back of his neck warming, Yuuri didn’t precisely know. For all the teasing and banter and the offhand statements made to meet the assumptions of others, there was a truth that lay between just the two of them. He knew that most the time, even believed it, but right now there was a thrum of anticipation he didn’t chase away with worries about uncertainties.

_Be warned, Viktor. I have a feeling I’m only interested in kissing gold too._

Absolutely ridiculous when talking to the single most decorated skater in men’s figure skating history, but right for the moment.

Viktor had to leave then, time for bathing and a short interview for a figure skating blog documenting Russian Nationals. Yuuri said his see you laters, rummaging up a fork from the provided cutlery, picking up the disposable chopsticks as well. Picking the strawberries off the top and dipping them in the peaks of whipped cream felt like an incredible indulgence. He paused, considering things, then found a way to prop up his phone, recording video for a brief time to give a verbal thank you and demonstrate his appreciation of the gift Viktor had arranged. 

It was that thought which struck him, inspiring him with a sort of shy certainty he turned into resolve. He found words, choosing not to second guess himself as he spoke at his phone, recording a message for Viktor alone. He ended the recording with a smile and the intrusion of his arm and hand; he didn’t send it. Yuuri set an alarm on his phone and messaged Viktor goodnight before turning down the sheets of his bed and falling into a restless slumber.

His phone beeped its alarm in the dark of a pre-dawn morning, Yuuri roused with slow reluctance. He fumbled for his phone, hand dragging over fabric until the hard case was under his fingertips.

It was just before four in the morning his time, making it just before midnight for Viktor. Yawning, he sat up, fumbling for his glasses and setting his phone on a blanket covered knee. He had a message to send to Viktor as it became the 25th of December: a birthday wish as part of his thank you for Viktor’s consideration. For his love, really.

Yuuri loaded the video into his messenger, watching the minutes pass. At midnight, his clock reading a straight line of zeroes, he hit send. Then he took his glasses back off, returning them to the flat expanse on top of the headboard, and curled up with his phone, eyes closed. Viktor should be sleeping with his free skate today, and Yuuri could catch another two hours of sleep before his first warm up session. He didn’t need to be there, but he wanted to be there, calming his mind before they were dealing with the brief rehearsal for the afternoon’s gala.

All that mattered was that Viktor would get that message whenever he did wake up; it was the best Yuuri thought he might do, from this far away. He hoped, phone tucked under his pillow, that it’d be enough.

* * *

Viktor couldn’t account for why he was awake earlier than he needed to be, only knowing he wanted to get a message off to Yuuri before he started his day, four hours earlier. He’d set his alarm for two, yawning and stretching himself awake when it went off as planned. He saw Yuuri had sent a message, but not the contents. Probably a good morning, or a good luck, or a request for a photograph of Makkachin. It’d been an ongoing joke the last two weeks, just how many photos of Makkachin Viktor could dig out of his digital history to forward on to Yuuri. Yuuri rated each shot, inevitably all at numbers higher than the scale of ten they ostensibly were using.

It was none of those things. Viktor brushed his hair back, sitting up and considering the video file waiting for him. Almost two minutes of Yuuri with the cake Viktor had arranged for delivery. A romantic gesture, and also a friendly one, with both meanings intended. 

He guessed it might be a thank you, framed in whatever way made sense to and for Yuuri. He’d seen a few different expressions of gratitude from Yuuri over the last ten months; he had a feeling he’d learn more, over time. Reaching for the bottled water sitting on his bedside table, Viktor uncapped it to take a sip. He nestled the bottle against his hip, then settled his phone against his knees, supported by one hand. He touched the screen to set the video to playing.

Yuuri pulled back from the lens, settling down in a desk chair with the cake evident on whatever table or desk he sat at, a spoon, a pair of chopsticks, and a plastic knife resting on a ceramic dish, probably meant for tea. “This is more than I should eat,” he informed the camera, brow furrowing. He was thinking, expression relaxing into a small, soft smile after a moment. “I thought the best thank you would be sharing what it tasted like with you, live time. Or recorded and genuine, since our schedules aren’t matched up right now.”

Yuuri wasn’t used to engaging the camera for this kind of communication; they didn’t send videos of themselves to each other, usually only recorded their movements on the ice for purposes of review and critique. Yuuri glanced away, picking up the knife, and started cutting a slice of the cake, shaking his head. “This is already messy,” he said, lips curling up at the corners as he caught a strawberry attempting to tumble off the top of the cake and plopped it into his mouth without preamble. He chewed, swallowing, licking his fingers clean while he moved the knife for a second cut down through whipped cream, strawberries, and cake.

“The last time I ate one of these had to be with Yuuko and Nishigori when we were teenagers. Before I was off training in the United States.” Viktor watched as the Yuuri of hours past used both chopsticks and knife to position a slice of cake onto the plate, exact in his movements. It was because he was trying to be careful. When Yuuri moved with subconscious grace, he didn’t hunch his shoulders like that. “We only eat this once a year. One day we’ll have to share one.”

His eyes flicked toward the camera, the small smile from before turning into a brief, questioning grin. _We’ll see that day, won’t we? We’ll get there?_

“So, here’s the cake.” Yuuri held up the spoon, brandishing it for the camera. He cut down with it, displacing a strawberry as he collected his first bite’s worth of cake. 

Viktor watched Yuuri close his eyes as he chewed and swallowed, the small sound of his pleasure one that twitched a smile onto Viktor’s lips. Yuuri loved good food. Good food loved him back. There was a balance there, as with most things; one that Yuuri had to work harder at, but that didn’t rule out small indulgences like this one.

Yuuri enjoying himself was one of the sights Viktor loved most. It was clear, in the way Yuuri’s eyes closed and stayed closed for a long moment, that Yuuri was enjoying the cake.

“Mmm,” he said, eyes opening and smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “Better than I remembered.” Setting the spoon aside, he used his fingers to pick up an errant strawberry, eating it without particular fanfare. Once he’d chewed and swallowed, he flashed the camera a happier grin. “Better if you were here, I think.”

Yuuri’s expression was changing, his hands falling down past where the camera could see, probably into his lap. He looked directly at the camera, lips settling into a thin line. Then he bowed, as he’d bowed not long ago; Viktor felt his heart stop.

“Please, Yuuri…”

“Viktor,” Yuuri said, unhearing. “Thank you. I don’t know if I say that often enough. Thank you.” He straightened, looking into the camera again. “I know neither one of us really celebrates Christmas. For one thing, it’s your birthday, and for a long time…” He trailed off, cheeks gaining colour. Yuuri cleared his throat and went on. “For a long time, that was something I thought was worth celebrating. Even before I really knew you.”

Viktor pressed one hand against his heart, fingers gently curling into the fabric of his shirt. His chest felt tight, aching; he knew why, though he didn’t linger over it.

“Oh, Yuuri.”

Yuuri continued on, message unchanged by what Viktor said. “If there was anything I ever wanted for Christmas, if I even celebrated it that way, this…” he gestured toward the cake. “You,” he said, gesturing toward the camera. “Getting the chance to skate with and against you, feeling at my best? It would be this.”

Yuuri’s eyes fell, one hand pressed over his breastbone now. “I’ve wanted to say this for a long time. I don’t think I ever really believed I’d have the chance, so… Happy birthday, Viktor.” The warmth in his gaze when he looked back to the camera reached Viktor where he sat in the cool pre-dawn darkness, heart aching with the complexity of love. “I’ll show you the skating that I like best, every time I step on the ice. Thank you for that, too.”

It was his right hand pressed against his chest. Viktor had noticed that, but it was only as Yuuri brought his hand up, forming a loose fist with his fingers and turning his wrist so that he might press a kiss to the gold ring that glimmered there in the lamplight, that Viktor truly _saw_.

“Good luck with your free skate, Viktor.” _I love you_. “Not that you need luck, but, you know. I’ll be thinking of you today.”

Countries apart, they’d both be skating to _Stammi Vicino_ , Yuuri to the duet, Viktor to the solo. They’d both be skating to love; Viktor to a love lost, Yuuri to a love rediscovered. It wasn’t them, and it wasn’t about them. Viktor’s program had never been about his own loneliness, though he knew he’d been lonely, disconnected and drifting away from what had defined his life. No, it wasn’t their programs that defined their love, but the way they would skate, with the ones held in their hearts by the time the music stopped.

Viktor reached out to touch the screen of his phone, stopping a hair's breadth away. 

“See you soon,” Yuuri said, eyes bright with emotion as he leaned forward, reaching to turn off his phone and end the recording.

Viktor’s fingers continued to hover over his phone screen. Not soon enough he decided as the phone screen when dark, the play icon reasserting itself. But he didn’t think there was going to be another time in his life where he would want to be away from Yuuri; where it would be his ideal to not wake up to Yuuri’s sleep-mussed hair and spark of incredible drive behind his eyes.

He brought his loosely fisted fingers to his mouth, pressing his lips to the ring Yuuri had given him while red cheeked and so earnest Viktor had been lost in the brilliance of his determination. “See you soon, Yuuri,” he said, a promise, “But never soon enough.”

It was the warmest happy birthday he could remember being given in his adult life, and it, like so much of what Yuuri gave him, lingered, like an afterglow.

“Never,” he repeated in the quiet morning, alone but not lonely, “Soon enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays everyone, and a happy upcoming New Year!


End file.
